by Bree Porter
I smiled gracefully, trying to ignore the bambino comment. “You two are being too sweet. If you keep complimenting me, my head will be too big to fit though the door.”
They laughed and the topic changed.
Eventually, I was able to engage Chiara in a conversation across the table. I had the ulterior motive of wanting to hold the baby. “How is your daughter-in-law?” I asked.
Chiara actually looked a little sad. “She wished she could be here today, but she’s come down sick.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to here that. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, just a flu, we think. Sadly, that means she can’t spend so much time with the baby.” Chiara bounced the baby on her knees. “But Baby Portia doesn’t mind spending time with her nonna. Do you, my love?”
Baby Portia gave her grandmother a gummy smile, earnings coos from the women around her.
“She’s gorgeous,” I cooed, not immune to the squishy little baby. Chiara said the words I had been hoping for, “Do you want to hold her?”
I happily took Baby Portia and set her down on my lap. She smelt like baby powder and her skin was soft to touch. She wasn’t upset by being moved laps, probably use to be passed around by family. Baby Portia slapped happily at the table in front of her, going after the shiny fork.
“No, no, my dear.” I laughed and swiped it from her grip. “When did she get so fast?”
“I know!” Exclaimed Chiara. “It feels like yesterday she was just a newborn.”
Baby Portia entertained herself with all the new things in front of her. When she was denied access to the dangerous objects, she turned her attention to me. My necklace caught her attention and she wrapped a chubby fist around it.
I tickled her cheek. She smiled. “Do you like my necklace, bambina?”
She shook her fist, laughing as she saw the necklace move. With her other hand, she grabbed the chain and gave an impressive yank.
“Ouch, ouch.” I unpeeled her fingers. “You’re so strong, darling.”
Baby Portia clapped her hands together.
“You’re very good with her.” Said a voice.
I looked to the side and smiled automatically. Tina de Sanctis was a quiet withdrawn woman, wife of Benvenuto de Sanctis, who was a powerful Capo stationed out of Chicago.
“Thank you.” I said. “And where is your bambina? Narcisa?”
The conversation came to us quickly. Many women threw in, “Where is Narcisa?” “When is Narcisa coming back?” “Is Narcisa well?” The reason for that was that Narcisa de Sanctis, only child of Benvenuto and Tina, did not live with her mother in the outskirts of Chicago or with her father in Cleveland. Many rumours circulated the reasons why.
But it came down to, “Is she nervous for the wedding?”
Tina paled slightly but managed a smile. “Narcisa is very excited for the wedding.”
Unlike my own wedding, some arrangements of marriage had been set in stone for decades. The engagement between Narcisa de Sanctis and Sergio Ossani was an example of one of those. Since the day of Narcisa’s birth, she had been set to marry Sergio Ossani on the 18th of July 2015. Which was only months away.
“I can’t believe it’s so close.” I said.
“So close!” Rosa di Calbo added. “We’ve been waiting for years and finally they will be wed. You must be ecstatic, Tina.”
Tina nodded. “Of course.” She didn’t sound that ecstatic.
Rumour had it that Tina had tried to hold back the wedding for a few more years, especially ever since the…incident that occurred with the Ossani’s. But everyone knew her attempts were folly. This bargain had been set for two decades. Nothing was going to change it, unless either the groom or bride passed away.
I remembered the look in Sergio’s eyes, the shadows in his eyes. He was rough man, an enforcer. And Narcisa had been small and sickly.
I felt for Tina in that moment. If I had a daughter, I would be in the exact same position Tina was in.
Some part of me was curious about the baby growing inside of me. But it was probably best not to worry about if they were a boy or a girl, just yet. As soon as the pregnancy was announced, there would be enough pressure on me to have a son.
I smoothed down Baby Portia’s hair and passed her back to Chiara.
“I think this is the season for weddings.” Ornella said, excitedly.
“You say that every season, Ornella.” Nina pointed out.
Ornella didn’t relinquish her statement. “Oh, I know that, Nina. But this season I really feel it.” She smiled at me and Tina. “To have a Rocchetti married and an old bargain fulfilled? That can only bring good fortune.”
I wasn’t so sure.
She called down the table to Elena, who was looking bored. “When are you getting married, Elena?”
Elena’s aunt answered, “By Fall, if the engagement is set.”
Excited coos came from the table. Elena thinned her lips but said nothing.
“And what about you, Adelasia? You are too beautiful for the men to ignore.” Ornella asked Adelasia, who had just turned eighteen.
We spoke about marriages until the topic grew tiring. The most exciting wedding coming up was Narcisa’s and Sergio’s. To no one’s surprise, my bloody wedding was not mentioned, despite there being lots of interest in my marriage.
I turned away comments easily and kept my tone light. When they poked for information, I kept my answers vague. There was nothing malicious about their curiosity. Being curious about a marriage was a normal thing to be, but most of their interest came from the fact that there hadn’t been a Rocchetti wedding in decades. Don Piero had declined any matches, except for the one between Alessandro and I.
I wonder why that was, I thought. Perhaps Papa had something he really wanted.
But what did Papa have?
Plus, Papa hadn’t even wanted the match.
“Sophia,” called Nina, cutting off my thoughts. “You have to hear Patrizia’s story about her car. It is hilarious.”
Patrizia Tripoli gave a humorous story about breaking down on the side of the road and the efforts she had to go to get home. Somehow a cow had been involved and she ended the story the a loud flourish, that had the entire table laughing.
After the funny story, the conversation shifted once more. But instead of talking about marriages and families, a more dangerous topic arose.
“Did you hear that Angus Gallagher has left the States?” Angie asked. “Tommaso thinks he has gone to Ireland to gather support.”
“My husband said the same thing.” Ornella said. She pinched her mouth together. “That’s what happened in the 80s. Do you remember, Nina? Charles Pelletier went to France and brought back an army.”
Nina didn’t look pleased with Ornella’s referral to the Outfit vs Corsican Union war. “Try not to stress yourself out, Ornella.”
“Do you think there will be another war?” Someone asked.
Another voice rose, “I couldn’t bare it!”
“Of course not. Times have changed.” Nina played hostess well. “We do not need to worry about such things, ladies.”
Nina’s effort to soothe the group did not work. Anxious conversation rose about the notion of another war.
“I overheard Nataniele talking about taking something from the Gallagher’s.” Patrizia said. “I thought revenge had already been paid.” “What do you know, Patrizia?” Rosa asked. “Nataniele wouldn’t tell you such things and you shouldn’t be sticking your nose into it.”
“You remember how bloody that last war was, Rosa.” Argued Patrizia. “I lost my son and I’m not losing my husband, as well. Especially over some land or drugs.”
“Why shouldn’t we get more land?” Someone asked. “There is unrest in New York at the moment. Perhaps the Don plans to move the Gallagher’s out the way.”
Nina tried to regain control once more. She waved her hand. “Let’s speak of much warmer topics. This one is giving me a headache.” I offered her some more wine
, which she took gratefully.
The chatter continued. Many women were afraid of the future, and there was a few comments made about the incident at my wedding. To attack a wedding, a sacred ritual, was never a good sign and certainly meant that there was unrest.
I caught Nina glancing over her shoulder. Bodyguards lurked, but it was clear they were listening.
Suddenly, I understood why Nina had tried to shut down the conversation.
“Ladies,” I called, my voice sweet. “Our men know what they are doing. I doubt there is any chance we will have another war. The Outfit is too powerful, our family too strong, to be threatened by an unruly gang. How about we enjoy our lunch and discuss much more important things? Like Easter.”
The topic changed once more to much more exciting topic of Easter. We discussed what we would bring to Easter Sunday, what time to retire from Church and who would hide the easter eggs for the children.
As they spoke, Nina placed a gentle hand on mine.
I looked to her.
She didn’t say thank you, only gestured to a wine bottle. “Would you like some?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
Nina’s eyes flickered down to my water and gleamed knowingly. She drew her hand back and didn’t ask me again.
The luncheon went for a couple hours, and the conversation didn’t go back to the talk of war. We ate and laughed and talked until my throat hurt. When the sun began to go down, the guests began to leave. Chiara left first with Baby Portia, much to everyone’s disappointment. Baby Portia had been the source of entertainment for a lot of us.
I didn’t rush to leave, part of me wanting to help Nina clean up and the other part of me not wanting to risk seeing Alessandro. Many women came up to me individually to invite me to brunch’s and dinner’s, all offers which I accepted. Beatrice and Elena both hugged and kissed me, and we promised to catch up soon.
Nina didn’t kick me out with everyone else, only took me to the kitchen. She poured me a coffee. Without the other women, it was remarkably quiet. I missed their chatter as I sat in the quiet. Nina had even sent Angie away.
“You held a lovely lunch, Nina.” I said. “I am going to need that recipe for the bruschetta. It was absolutely divine.” Nina leaned on the counter across from me. She sipped her coffee, whereas I left mine untouched. “We haven’t had a talk. Just the two of us.” I smiled politely. “What would you like to talk about?”
A piece of loose grey hair came out of her hairstyle but she shoved it back. “You are very young and in a very new position. It is unfortunate that there is no older female in your family or your husband’s to help guide you. Especially through marriage and motherhood, two very difficult things.”
I nodded.
“I am extending an olive branch, my dear. You and Alessandro are a young couple, and though part of the future of the Outfit, are not yet powerful.” Nina said.
“What are you proposing?” I asked.
“We will help each other, yes?” She tried to give me a comforting look. “I will answer your questions and guarantee you my discretion. And in return, you will convince your husband to let my Davide employ Nero for a…task.”
I ran my nails over the coffee mug. “What sort of task?”
“I have my suspicions.” Her eyes gleamed. “But I am not in the know.”
“Neither am I.”
“No, you’re not. But you are a wife, Sophia. And that comes with its own advantages.”
Alessandro and I weren’t even speaking at the moment so it would be hard to convince him to spare his assassin, but I didn’t tell Nina that. “I would be honoured to have your counsel, Nina, but that’s not what I want in exchange.”
Nina didn’t look surprised. “What is it you want then, my dear?” I had no idea, I didn’t think I would get this far. What did I want? Sometimes I wanted everything in the world and other times the idea of wishing for anything was exhausting. I think the thing I wanted most in the world was to get over this feeling of rejection and move on with my life, followed by resurrecting my sister from the grave.
And…I wanted Alessandro to speak to me again. I missed him, oddly enough. It was nice talking to him, living with him. We fought often and he did frighten me, but there was comfort in seeing him at dinner or feeling his presence nearby. I liked it when he helped me with the Thermostat or when I could hear him talking to Polpetto.
I was…lonely, without him.
I drummed my fingers against the coffee mug. “All I want is your bruschetta recipe.”
It was too early to make enemies out of people who could be my closest allies.
Nina smiled. “Consider it yours.”
I went about my night in the usual fashion. I made dinner, fed Polpetto and watched an episode of my favourite drama. As I viewed the couple on the screen, their loving words and kisses, I was suddenly overcome with a sense of envy. I turned off the television and walked aimlessly around the house.
I kept altering the tinfoil that covered Alessandro’s plate.
The hours went by and the sky darkened, but my husband did not return. Every time I heard a footstep or the sound of the elevator, I fled upstairs like a naughty child and watched from the staircase.
But he did not stepped into the penthouse.
I was exhausted and looped towards my bedroom, but the idea of being trapped in sleep held no appeal.
So I settled back downstairs, listening to the soft drums of the city below. I positioned myself on the couch which allowed a clear view of the front door.
I laid down, using my silky dressing gown as a makeshift blanket. I held my head on my arms, and waited.
But he never came.
Chapter Nineteen
Something wet licked my face.
I scrubbed at it and twisted my head. “Go away, Polpetto. I’m trying to sleep.”
I felt Polpetto’s little fluffy body press up against my neck. He licked me again and growled low in his throat.
“Do you have to pee?” I mumbled.
Polpetto began to paw at me, his claws catching my cheek.
“Ouch.” I pulled back, blearily opening my eyes. Polpetto’s face was in front of mine, his tail in between his legs. He was pawing anxiously at me. “What’s the matter?”
I lifted myself up but a shot of pain echoed down my back. I hissed, annoyed at myself for falling asleep on the couch. They were not very comfy and now my back would be aching for days. Though in the next few months, Dr Parlatore had warned me would be very hard on my back.
I cracked my neck. Polpetto whined.
“What’s the matter—“
A clattering sound came from upstairs. Polpetto whined and shoved himself into me.
“It’s probably just Alessandro.” I said. But then why was Polpetto so upset? I’m sure he just needs to go the toilet, I told myself.
I peeled myself off the couch, cringing at each new cramp. Polpetto whined beside me, nipping at my heels and jumping up onto his hind legs. I opened the downstairs bathroom door where is puppy mat was.
“There you go—“ I let out a huge yawn.
Polpetto didn’t even glance at the puppy mat, instead he continued to claw at me.
I crouched down and scratched his head. “You’re okay, darling.”
There was another shuffling sound from upstairs. Polpetto whimpered.
I rose to my feet. A strange feeling of unease began to settle over me. Alessandro wasn’t usually so loud during the night—or ever, really. We existed quietly beside each other in the penthouse.
I headed to the staircase, ignoring the sweat beginning to form on the back of my neck.
You’re just psyching yourself up, I told myself. It’s probably just Alessandro.
Polpetto followed me, whining unhappily. His tail was in between his legs and he gave the staircase a wide berth.
“Alessandro,” I called up the staircase.
The shuffling stopped.
I stepped tenderly onto
the stairs. “Alessandro, is that you?”
There was no answer.
I gripped the bannister and hauled myself up to the second story. “Teresa?”
As soon as I reached the landing, a dark figure emerged from the end of the hall—where my bedroom was.
“Alessandro?” I asked even though I knew it wasn’t my husband.
The figure stepped forward. It was a masked man, dressed in all black, and they were pointing a gun directly at me.
My heart stopped in my chest.
“This is the last house you want to rob.” I squeaked. “Go now and I won’t tell my husband you were here.”
The masked man laughed and took another step towards me. He was well-built and taller than I, but there was nothing remotely familiar about him.
“Where is it?” He demanded.
I gripped onto the railing. Take a deep breath, I told myself. Breath in, breath out. “Where is what?”
“The USB, the documents, the files. I know you have them.” Each time word he spoke, he emphasised his point by jabbing the gun at me.
I swallowed harshly. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
The masked man made a furious noise and strode towards me. I stumbled back, going straight into the wall.
He stopped before and pressed the cold barrel of the gun to my forehead.
Sweat began to slide down my skin, soaking into my pyjama shirt.
I’m going to die, I thought strangely. After living side by side with death, as a daughter, sister and now wife, I was about to die myself.
I’m not ready yet. I’m not ready to die.
My baby, my baby, my baby.
“Let’s both calm down.” I said softly. “I can’t help you if you kill me.”
He pressed the gun further into my skin. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. “Where the fuck is the recordings and shit? I know you have them. They weren’t at the house. They have to be here. Where the fuck are they?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice broke. “I am only a wife. I don’t know of any recordings or a USB. I haven’t used a USB since high school. We had to put our assignments on them for our Social Studies teacher because she didn’t want to waste paper—“ “Stop talking.” The masked man snapped. “I’m going to have to spell this out for you, aren’t I? Christ. You took something from your sister and it’s very important.”